


A bit of praise turned fluff

by KimberlyAlexis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, I Don't Even Know, I have a one kudos goal with this mess, I wanted to write about John realizing Sherlock liked praise and then they fucked, M/M, Praise Kink, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, This story got away from me, and I dunno, but then it felt weird, so i stopped that and then went to just them talking n stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:23:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimberlyAlexis/pseuds/KimberlyAlexis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John realizes Sherlock has a praise kink fairly early on and uses it for Sherlock's own good but also they fall in love.</p><p>++++</p><p>"Nevertheless you solved it. Because you're brilliant. "</p><p>"Oh," Sherlock said and he lowered his hands from his gripped hair.</p><p>"No one could have solved that but you." John sat in his chair and turned towards Sherlock. "And an amazing person like deserves more cases to be your fantastic self." John didn't want to lay it on too thick but he flashed a quick smile as he said his final words. "I know I’d miss watching your mind work if you couldn't do it anymore. It's wonderful."</p><p>Sherlock sat back and promptly closed his dressing gown.</p><p>John waited.<br/>++++</p><p>So I've decided that when I don't know where to go with a story then I'm going to finish them out as best I can and post them. So this is that. I hope you get something out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A bit of praise turned fluff

The first time John noticed it he didn't really truly notice it. He'd let the word slip from his mouth and Sherlock seemed to blush.  When he smiled John was pleased to have made Sherlock happy but that was it. Nothing more. Then he did it again. John crouched on the floor at a crime scene, Sherlock pouring out deductions that seemed almost magical. The connections made were almost impossible but Sherlock made them possible and perfect.  
  
"Fantastic," John had said. Sherlock at first admonished him but then said it was fine. John noticed then. He absolutely knew at that point. If Sherlock wasn't wearing his coat John was sure that he could look down and see proof that he was right.  
  
John Watson, 1.7 meters tall, cardigan wearing. A sly smile on his face. A quiet confidence that no one seems to know where it originates. John knows. Because John did not leave three continents with a smile just for no good reason. No, he did it because he's always had that knack, that gift for telling what pleases a person, what their core needs. It's not a trick, not a ruse. He just pays attention to people just like Sherlock pays attention to clues. Having the knowledge of what Sherlock needed, wanted wasn't something John considered using. And he didn't. So perhaps sometimes he mentioned that Sherlock was brilliant right before he needed him to get rid of some disgusting spores in the fridge. Sherlock always complied after the praise. This was good, useful. He didn't abuse the knowledge because he had a sneaking feeling that Sherlock was well aware of it. John assumed he was letting it continue as he got something out of it too.  
  
Years past. John rarely used this part of his arsenal. Only if an item was truly heinous in the kitchen. Only when he found a trail of spiders from Sherlock's chair. Only when Lestrade had threatened to never again call them did he decide to use it.  
  
"Sherlock." John had said four days after Lestrade said he'd not call for Sherlock's help ever again. "Can you please call Lestrade to apologise?"  
  
"Whatever for? It was his people's fault the scene was trampled through nearly destroying all the evidence and letting a killer go free. I simply solved the crime and advised them of their mistake."  
  
"Simply advising them would not entail explaining to each person on scene why they were all idiots and why they'll always be failures in life."  
  
"Well, no, but-"  
  
"No buts. Apologise."  
  
"Apologise? John really! It was their own stupidity which allowed the killer to get the jump. He was almost out of the country because they'd lost the paper containing his flight details."  
  
"Nevertheless."  
  
"Nevertheless what?" Sherlock said unfolding himself from his sulking position on the couch. With his wild hair and wild eyes both at attention Sherlock gave John a look of exasperation coupled with a heavy put-upon sigh. Now was the time. Now when he would do it for Sherlock's own good. He'd use the one thing he always knew worked.  
  
"Nevertheless you solved it. Because you're brilliant. "  
  
"Oh," Sherlock said. He lowered his hands from his gripped hair.  
  
"No one could have solved that but you." John sat in his chair and turned towards Sherlock. "And an amazing person such as you deserves more cases to show off your fantastic mind." John didn't want to lay it on too thick but he flashed a quick smile as he said his final words. "I know I’d miss watching you work if you couldn't do it anymore. It's wonderful."  
  
Sherlock sat back and promptly closed his dressing gown.  
  
John waited.  
  
It didn't take long after that. Sherlock let his eyes drift shut, his mouth opened just a touch. He took a breath and said, “My phone please, John?”

“Where is it?”

“Pocket,” Sherlock said and steepled his hands.

“Okay,” John said.”Okay.”

It wasn’t a line and yet John took his time crossing it--and the room. When he finally sat down beside Sherlock he took a breath. The way Sherlock had folded the dressing gown over himself the pocket was just over Sherlock’s crotch.

Sherlock’s eyes were closed, his breathing steady. It was nearly the only sound John could hear. It was only slightly matched by the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

John’s eyes remained steady on Sherlock as his hand moved closer to the dressing gown’s pocket.

Once his hand slipped in the pocket he couldn’t move. His fingers remained clasped around the phone, unmoving. His eyes focused on Sherlock and he couldn't look away.

“Sher-“ John said in a whisper. _Was it now?_  Then Sherlock moved his right hand to lay on John’s for a moment. The touch shaking John out of his momentary paralysis. He jerked his hand back and handed the phone to Sherlock who had turned his hand over, palm up waiting.

Sherlock said nothing, didn’t open his eyes. He swiped a few motions on the phone. John heard Lestrade’s outgoing voicemail message then Sherlock spoke.

“Lestrade, I apologise for my behaviour. As you know I am not an easy man to work with and I appreciate your understanding. In the future I will endeavor to…try.” He then ended the call and placed the phone back in his pocket.

John gave a small laugh. “Try what?”

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked over at John with a piercing look. “I was considering the right word, the one he’d want to hear.  Then I decided he knew what that word was himself and would therefore fill it in as needed.  No need for me to strain myself in search of it."

“Smart,” John said. And Sherlock turned away, tried to hide the smile.

“Dinner?” Sherlock said looking towards the window.

“Yes,” John said. They spent the night in with Sherlock telling John about the very first case he and Lestrade solved together.

Lestrade came around not a day after and said he was glad Sherlock was going to try to be nicer. Sherlock gave a glance to John with a raised eyebrow. John beamed at him.

Lestrade had a case in which three people were killed and only thumbs were missing. Sherlock solved it without leaving the flat. It did seem obvious once he pointed out all of the victims knew a man named Tom.

Then more cases after that. They went in and out of London. They went in and out of the country. John rarely had to use his knowledge and ,in fact, never thought to use it again after they solved the case of the curious mirror.

Then one day John was stood outside of Bart’s not believing this was happening. He hadn’t just seen Sherlock die. He wasn’t just standing, waiting for a fuckin cab to take him back to their flat. That hadn’t just happened.

But it did happen. And it kept happening every night when he closed his eyes. It continued to happen when he found just a moment of peace, that image invaded his every thought, every corner of his heart. Then Mary came along.

It’s “not unhealthy.” That’s what Ella said. Him placing all his faith and hope in another person isn’t completely unhealthy but it wasn’t healthy. Ella had tried to say that, John had tried to ignore that. He tried to because he needed Mary more than anything. Needing someone to be a foundation to build a life on is never truly healthy yet how could he deny himself the opportunity to move on regardless of the cost.

So he left 221B on a cold day in November and didn’t look back.

And Sherlock returned.

And of course John forgave him.

And of course eventually they worked cases again.

And when Mary turned out to not be who John thought he was they also worked together on that until Mary was safe. Her and the child which wasn’t John’s. 

John also moved back on a cold day in November.  They fell back into a rhythm. John a little more brittle, rough around the edges. Sherlock quieter than before. Still they moved in tandem until they found a solution.

Until it came time for Sherlock to ask Mycroft for help in a case and Sherlock wouldn’t budge. It lasted for two long days until John went to see Mrs. Hudson for tea.

“Well dear how did you ever handle him before? I had a trick with Mr. Hudson you know.”

“Oh, what was that?” John asked while taking a sip of tea.

“Well sex of course.”

John coughed and sputtered tea.

“I didn’t say it was a clever trick. Shame it doesn’t work that way with you and Sherlock or…”

“Mrs. Hudson, you know--.”

“I know dear. Still.”

But it did loosen that nugget of an idea, a memory of his own way to deal with this.

John finished his tea, said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, and bounded up the stairs. He walked in to see Sherlock glance away from his phone then his eyes landed on John.

“So I um,” John started and looked away to the window then back at Sherlock. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out for a bite tonight.”

“No,” Sherlock said. “We’ve not solved the case.”

“Yes, and we won’t unless we get access to those archives which means calling your brother.”

“I won’t ask. The cost is too great,” Sherlock said.

“It’s just a state dinner, Sherlock.”

“No.”

Well then, John thought, he gave it a try. He walked to the phone and picked it up. Called in an order for Angelo's then walked to the cupboard and took down two mugs, rooted around and found that bottle of scotch that they’d been gifted by the Czar of Omai.

“Drink?” he asked and poured them both a cup.

“A world of no,” Sherlock said.

“C’mon you brilliant man. You’re smart. Why would I want to have a drink today?”

 Sherlock looked up and seemed lost in thought for a moment, then he found the information, the date, John and Mary's no longer anniversary.

“Oh,” he said. He reached out a hand to clasp the mug in John’s hand. “A drink sounds fine.”

“Good,” John said.

Three drinks later they’d moved to the living room to eat the much delayed food.

After a hearty meal John decides to put his plan in motion.

“So,” John says.

“Don’t.” Sherlock stops him.

“There is no way you know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to once again try to talk me into calling my brother.”

John sniffs and turns away, lets the fork clatter down on the plate. “Was not.”

“Were too,” Sherlock says. He places his food down beside him, leans back in his chair. John could swear he was doing the lean back of the very full.

“Good food?” 

“Mmm that thing Angelo is doing with the new pasta. It’s nice.”

John let his eyes close, huffs out a sigh. “This could work you know?”

Sherlock said nothing so John continued.

“We eat food and sit in. There'll be no cases and it’s just this.”

“New tactic I see.”

“No,” John says while opening his eyes and shaking his head back and forth to punctuate the point.

“Well it won’t work. Lestrade will call.”

“Lestrade who you constantly call your brother’s lackey?”

“Regardless.”

“You know you miss it.”

“It’s only been two days.”

“Two days for you is a lifetime without a case to keep you interested.”

“I have a case.”

“Close to cracking that Godfrey business are you? Going to move on to Pimlico Poisoning next?”

Sherlock turns away. John knows he is annoyed that John realized Sherlock is working on the list of top ten unsolved crimes in England. John also knows the act of a desperate man when he sees one.

“It’s always been a goal of mine to explore the most compli-.”

“Sure it is.”

“I’ve always wanted to solve the top ten-”

“Yeah course,” John says.

Sherlock huffs out a breath in annoyance. “I’m not calling him,” he says. John is well aware of Sherlock’s habits. Making a declaration is Sherlock’s version of digging in, becoming unmovable. John reaches over and takes a last drink, he looks over at Sherlock and decides it’s for his own good really.

“You’re the most clever man I’ve ever met you know.”

“I know,” Sherlock says. His face is blank. John sees no change in his face, no blush, no secret smile. He worries perhaps it won’t work. He worries perhaps it never did work. Still he tries.

“And I always meant to say that I am so happy I got to know someone as extraordinary as you.”

Sherlock turns back to him, alarmed. “Is this just drunkenness or are you dying?”

John laughs. “No, it’s just me wanting to tell you how amazing you are because you are amazing.”  Then he sees it. Sherlock has learned to school his face even more but John’s eyes dip to Sherlock’s hands which are clutching his chair.

“Oh?” Sherlock says.

John looks at Sherlock and goes for the kill. “Surely a brilliant man like you can make a phone call to ensure our future cas-“

“Yes,” Sherlock says before John finishes his sentence.

“Good,” John says and turns away with a smile. “good.”

“John, will you—“

“What?” John says and turns back to look at Sherlock.

“It's been some time and..."

"What?"

"More please?”

“But...you...”

“Just one more.”

He can’t quite think of what to say next and then it comes to him. “And you’re bloody gorgeous.” Sherlock crosses his legs then.

“No, I--”

Sherlock looks at John, they catch each others eyes and seem to have a conversation. _Are we doing this?_

“John?”

“Come here.”

Sherlock stands at that, walks in front of John, looks down at him. The schooled face switching between nervousness and practiced uncaring.

“Do you-?” Sherlock starts to say and then stops.

“Sit down you beautiful thing,” John says. He can’t quite stop himself.

Sherlock sits gingerly on John’s lap. John’s hands immediately goes to settle on Sherlock’s back and legs. He moves to lift one of Sherlock's legs, maneuvers Sherlock until Sherlock gets the hint. Sherlock moves around then, settles in, straddles John.

“John, we-“

“I know, Sherlock. God I know.” John takes his hands to Sherlock’s neck and leans Sherlock’s head down. John leans up a bit. Their foreheads touching, their mouths a breath away from each other. “We don’t do this.”

“No,” Sherlock says. "We don't."

John not only hears it but he feels Sherlock’s lips move against his as they both try to come up with reasons why they should stop.

“But you’re amazing and fantastic and utterly mesmerizing so I can’t quite stop myself.”

A moan seems to escape Sherlock’s lips. Nearly as soon as the sound leaves his lips he tries to stop himself.

“No, no,” John says. “I want to hear you.”

John dips his mouth to Sherlock’s neck then. He gives a gentle suck just...there. In that place he's always wanted to taste.  Sherlock doesn’t stop one sound then, he clutches at John’s arms.

“John, please don’t.”

“Don’t what?” John says then pulls back. He blows a cooling breath then goes back to a delicate suck. His hands moves to Sherlock’s backside, grabbing himself two handfuls of Sherlock.

“Don’t fuck me.”

John pulls back then, looks at him. There is a haze of drink and lust over him but he wants to make sure Sherlock is here with him.

John kisses him then. Slots his mouth over Sherlock’s and kisses him slow and precise. He breaks the kiss and works hard to not give praise for Sherlock’s soft, kissable lips. He doesn’t want to use it again.

“Why not?”

“Because if you’re ever going to fuck me then I want to know we’re both there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to do it because I’ve got a raging kink for praise.”

“Sherlock, I-”

Sherlock places a finger over John’s lips and silences him.

“It’s okay. I know. It works out because it’s not just a praise kink. It’s only a kink for you to praise me.  So at least I know it won’t ever be abused.”

John tries to move his lips then.

“I mean at least not too much. I’m still frustrated you had me throw out those spores a few years back.”

John’s eyes say sorry. His lips purse to try to talk but in the end he simply kisses Sherlock’s finger in apology

“It’s okay,” Sherlock says. “I went to bed that night thinking about every word you said. When I came while thinking of you I blacked out for a good two minutes. It was the best orgasm I’d had in years.” Sherlock smiles. “So it’s fine. Okay?”

John nods his head at that. His eyes still say he’s sorry.

“But also,” Sherlock continues. “You’re inebriated.”

John shakes his head a bit as if to disagree. He does feel it a bit more then.

“Yes, you are. Not only on the alcohol but on the fact that you realize I will do anything you want after you praise me. And I do mean anything. You could have me any way you want as many times as you wanted and I'd just beg you for more."

John whimpers. Sherlock smiles but keeps his finger in place, even as John opens his mouth and darts out a tongue to lick at it.

"A-And I don’t want you to wake up in the morning feeling bad about using that. Now I’m going to take my hand down and I want you to agree with me. Okay?”

Sherlock removes his hand slowly then before John can speak he replaces it with his lips. John kisses him back with a fervor and passion he’s sure he’s never felt before. They kiss and kiss. John’s hands in Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock’s hands in John’s. John breathes fast and hard as Sherlock moves from kissing his lips to sucking on his neck. In succession Sherlock starts grinding down on John’s crotch and moaning in his ear. John doesn’t hold back and thrusts up into every bit of perfect friction.

“Fuck,” he says. “You’re so-God I-”

“John, I want--.”

John pulls back then, blows out a long and steady breath. “But you’re right.”

Sherlock leans forward, buries his face in John’s neck, gives a laugh. “I usually am.” He cuddles in closer, seems to take a sniff of John. “I wish I wasn’t.”

John laughs. "God me too."

They both breathe hard and fast until their breaths calm, waiting until they both can see this is the smarter option.  Sherlock unfolds himself, stands, holds out a hand for John.

John takes Sherlock's hand and stands up. He only sways a little.

"Would you, however, accompany me to bed for a while?" Sherlock smiles.

"I'd love to."

"And maybe in the morning," Sherlock says.

"Maybe...?"

"I'll call my brother."

"Oh." John says, failing to hide the disappointment in his voice.

They walk to Sherlock's bedroom. John takes off all his kit and watches as Sherlock seems to almost dance while removing his clothes. John slips into Sherlock's bed as does Sherlock. Without any discussion Sherlock lays on John's chest, John's arm snakes around Sherlock's back, holds him close.

"I want to do this right, John," Sherlock says. "After years of dancing around this I want to do this right. It's-It's the most important thing I'll ever do."

John gives a soft laugh. "Sex with me is the most important thing you'll ever do? Talk about pressure."

Sherlock pokes him. "You know what I mean."

John holds him closer, smiles to himself. "I do."

"So in the morning when we're both clear-headed we'll talk."

"Okay."

"But for now you do know that I....well I..." Sherlock's words peter out. John however hears the unspoken words because he feels them as well.

"Me too."

"Good," Sherlock says. "Good."

 

 


End file.
